


Aquarius

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Drown Malcolm Reed Month, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-18
Updated: 2006-03-17
Packaged: 2018-08-16 06:26:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8091088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Trip and Malcolm crash land on a water planet. (03/06/2004)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Spoilers, 2.03 "Minefield."  


* * *

Lieutenant Malcolm Reed stared out the shuttle window, compelled by the vast spaces of blue interrupted by white streaks of lower clouds which were hanging like immovable chunks of ice over the waters of planet XR-539. Ever since they'd entered the atmosphere he had seen nothing but water down there, which was not surprising, considering the fact that more than 95% of the planet's surface was covered in H2O, water, disgusting colourless stuff or whatever you wanted to call it.

When Enterprise had arrived at this world three days ago, the bridge crew had been staring in awe at the blue globe hanging before them in the darkness of space, and T'Pol had gravely announced that this was the planet with the largest amount of surface water the Vulcan explorers had discovered so far. He'd been the only one who hadn't been very impressed by that, and he'd sympathized with T'Pol as she'd raised a disapproving eyebrow when Ensign Mayweather had dubbed the planet 'Aquarius', a name which had made Archer, Hoshi, and Trip chuckle and left Reed and T'Pol at sea.

'No pun intended,' Reed thought sourly, never taking his eyes off the moving waters below them. He hadn't been too concerned then, though; he hadn't been able to think of a reason why it should be necessary to send an away team down to that planet. But unfortunately Captain Archer had, and he'd ordered Malcolm to accompany Commander Tucker on this mission. Before they had boarded the shuttle the Captain had taken him aside and asked him if there would be any _problems_ with this mission. Reed, cringing at Archer's worried tone of voice, had assured him that he was going to be just fine. But now, staring out the window and trying not to think of how it would feel to actually be down there in the _water_ , the current trying to draw him under, he felt not quite so fine.

"...by the way, do you like it?"

Startled out of his thoughts, Malcolm looked up at Trip who was sitting in the pilot seat and had just turned his head in Malcolm's direction. Reed frowned.

"Do I like what?"

"'Hair'!" Trip rolled his eyes in exasperation. "That's what I've been talkin' about the last five minutes. Do you like 'Hair'?"

Reed wondered if Trip had lost his mind after all. "Whose hair are we talking about?" he asked carefully. Trip shook his head.

"You haven't been listenin' to me at all, have you? I'm talkin' about 'Hair'. 'Hair' as in 'Hair', the musical." He noticed Reed's confused expression and grinned. "You know..." He cleared his throat and suddenly broke into song:

"When the moooon is in the seventh house, And Jupiter aligns with Mars, Then peeace will guide the planets, And lo-ove will steer the stars..."

"I get it, Trip, I get it," Reed said hastily. "'Hairs'. It's a musical."

"Not 'Hairs'. 'Hair'! It's the musical we watched last Friday at movie night, when you were _working_."

"Ah. Yes." Secretly Malcolm congratulated himself on the decision not to have gone to movie night after all. Trip, ignoring him, chatted on, turning back to his console. "That's why we named the planet 'Aquarius'. 'Aquarius' is a song from that musical. Didn't you wonder?"

"Um...no," Reed said, looking out the window again. There was silence for a few moments, then he heard Trip's voice behind him.

"What's wrong, Malcolm?"

"Why?" he asked, turning around, trying to sound surprised by the question. Trip glanced up from the shuttle controls.

"Talkin' to you today is like talkin' to a wall. You could at least say yes or no once in a while."

"Sorry," Reed mumbled, avoiding Trip's eyes, hoping the Commander wouldn't pursue the matter.

Of course there was something wrong, but he had no intention of explaining it, not to Trip and not to anyone else. He had told Archer, of course, but that had been at a time when he'd thought he wouldn't live to see any water ever again, and ever since that day out in the minefield he'd regretted letting anyone in on that well-kept secret of his. He didn't really know why he hated talking about this so much. He was ashamed, yes, but that wasn't all of it. Somehow, by admitting that he was afraid of water, afraid of _drowning_ , he was giving a part of himself away, admitting that he was weak.

Aquaphobia, this particular weakness was called. He hated the mere sound of the word. It reminded him of someone hysterically screaming their heads off at the sight of a mouse, of old ladies talking to shrinks about their ailments. And these things were certainly nothing he wanted anyone to associate with him. He did feel a bit guilty for not telling his best friend about it, but at he same time he remembered a conversation he'd had with Trip some time ago, when Trip had told him with mild amusement about some great aunt of his who was deadly afraid of spiders. He knew he was being silly, but somehow he just couldn't bring himself to say anything, not able to stand the thought of having people laugh at him behind his back.

Suddenly the shuttle gave a lurch, interrupting his train of thoughts and nearly throwing both of them out of their seats.

"What happened?" Reed asked, getting up and looking over Trip's shoulder at the console. Trip was operating the shuttle controls with deliberate speed.

"I dunno for sure. The starboard engine just broke down."

Reed opened his mouth to ask how far they were from the surface when suddenly the shuttle jerked again, making him stumble.

"Dammit!" Trip switched off the emergency klaxon which was giving off shrill beeping noises. Reed gripped the backrest of the pilot seat, and, checking the displays, he saw that the other engine had given up the ghost as well.

"It's those bloody interferences," he said, and felt his stomach jerk simultaneously with the shuttle as he threw a glance at the display, checking their altitude, and discovered that they were still more than seven hundred feet above the planet's surface.

"We need to get the shuttle down as quickly as possible," Trip said, trying to stabilize the pod on its descending course. "Let's hope we'll make it to the coast."

For the first time Reed raised his eyes, looking out the main window of the shuttle. For a moment he saw nothing but water, stretching endlessly in all directions, but then a thin line appeared on the horizon, growing steadily as they sped towards it. And that moment he knew they were not going to make it.

The coast was still too far away, and they were rapidly losing height. They would have to land on the water.

Reed noticed he was still gripping the backrest, his knuckles turning white, and deliberately loosened his grip.

"Do you think the shuttle is still up to an emergency landing?" he asked, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. Trip shook his head, shutting off another alarm which had started blaring a moment ago.

"I don't know. The stabilizers just went offline."

"I'll try to get the emergency system online," Reed said, feeling a desperate surge of hope rise within him. He stumbled back to his seat, glad to be able to turn his back on the dismal sight of the water coming nearer and nearer, and bent over his console. Just as he had initiated the starting sequence, there was the sound of wires short-circuiting and he heard Trip cry out in pain. He looked up and saw smoke billowing from the helm.

"Trip!" He was about to get up, but Trip waved him off.

"I'm alright," he said, frantically batting away the smoke, "but we've lost navigation control. All systems are offline."

He turned around to Reed and Malcolm saw the Commander was trying very hard to keep the panic in his voice under control as he spoke.

"We're not gonna make it to the coast."

And although Reed had known this, he felt his insides contract at these words. Through the window he could see the white crests of the waves below, and in the distance the thin line had become the broad silhouette of a rocky coast, but it was still too far away. Too damn far away.

He knew he should be doing something now, anything to prevent the shuttle from crashing, even though it was futile by now, but he could only sit and stare at the moving watermass below. Although he knew it was going to happen, he couldn't bring himself to believe he was actually going down into that churning hell of an ocean. It was like waking up and finding your nightmare had come true, that feeling of reality hitting home.

Trip was frantically punching away at the burnt-out console, but, of course, it wasn't reacting to anything he did. The shuttle was creaking now like it was going to fall apart any moment, drowning out the shrill sound of the alarms howling away at the main console.

Biting back the nauseous feeling that was building in his throat, Reed closed his eyes and clutched the armrests of his chair like his life depended on it. A moment later he heard Trip's voice as if from very far away:

"Prepare for crash!"

There was a roaring noise around him, a splash and a splutter as the engines died completely. The shuttle shook and jerked as it made contact with the water surface, and both of them were thrown out of their seats as it bounced along on the waves. Reed hit the deck and felt a stab of pain in his right arm as he was thrown against the back of the pilot seat. He looked around for Trip and saw he had been flung against the helm, but was already getting up again, holding onto the console as the shuttle gave a last few lurches and then quieted down. Reed got up, noticing the steady rocking under his feet as he took a few careful steps in Trip's direction.

"Are you okay?" he asked, surprised at how calm his voice sounded. Trip turned around and Reed saw blood dripping from his nose.

"I'm fine," he said, throwing a glance at the main window. "We need to get outta here ASAP."

Reed turned his head and froze. Right in front of the window there was water, not a smooth sea anymore as it had been when he had looked at it from above, but a churning, moving mass of waves. Somewhere at a distance he could make out the coast and could even see the outline of some trees growing there, but it could as well have been a hundred miles away. Trip had said something about getting out of here, and it sounded like a good idea, but how were they going to do that without actually getting into the water? Because one thing he knew for sure: He _couldn't_ get into that water.

Trip was frantically rummaging around in one of the storage compartments, carelessly throwing its contents onto the floor until he finally found a survival kit. He wrapped its straps around his waist and fastened the seal, turning around to Malcolm.

"You okay?" he asked and continued, not waiting for an answer. "We need to get into the water as soon as I open the hatch. When the water gets in, the shuttle will sink in no time."

Grabbing Reed by the arm, he pulled him over to the hatch.

"We need to keep together, alright?"

Reed saw him reaching for the panel beside the hatch and wanted to stop him, to tell him not to do this crazy thing—we're going to drown, for God's sake!—but he couldn't. His throat had closed up and he couldn't even yank his arm free from Trip's grasp. He was paralyzed.

"Ready?" Trip said and in the same moment the hatch flew open. For the first time Reed actually saw the water not through a window, but right there in front of him, hearing it roar and feeling the waves crushing against his feet. It was freezing cold and there was no getting away from it for it was flooding the shuttle at an incredible speed. He tried to retreat into the shuttle anyway, feeling his chest tighten up—I've got to get away from it!—but Trip was pulling him forward and into the waves.

He lost the ground beneath his feet and for a terrible moment the water was _all around him_ , closing over his head and darkening his vision. A moment later his head bobbed up again and he gasped for air, trying to scream at the same time, but no sound came out. Trip had released him the moment they had hit the water and was now a few feet ahead, moving away from him without looking back.

Desperately, Reed tried to keep his head out of the water and felt he was moving too, away from the rapidly sinking shuttle. Again, he tried to scream, but somehow he couldn't get enough air, not even to breath, and his head was spinning. Another wave crashed into his face and water got into his open mouth, leaving a slimy layer of salt on his tongue.

Coughing, he tried to draw in some air, but only succeeded in swallowing even more water, and his chest was tightening up, making it impossible for him to breath. His vision was beginning to darken around the edges and he felt his wet uniform pulling him down, but he couldn't fight it anymore. The water closed over his head once more and he knew this time he wouldn't be coming up again. The last remnants of his will to fight were fading away and he felt almost relieved when the blackness closed in on him, taking him away.


	2. Chapter 2

Trip felt the wet cloth of his uniform pulling at him as he fought against the current. For a moment he considered kicking off his boots, but dismissed the idea. He might need them later. He did a few strokes, trying to get some distance between him and the sinking shuttle, then turned his head to look for Malcolm.

A wave splashed into his face and for a moment he couldn't see anything at all. Trying to get the water out of his eyes, he blinked and shook his head. When his vision had cleared again, he realized with a start that Reed was not right behind him like he'd thought he would be. Turning back, he craned his neck to get a glimpse of Malcolm somewhere between the waves, and felt panic rise within him when he couldn't see him anywhere.

"Malcolm!" he called, but his voice was drowned out by the roaring waters.

'Think', Trip told himself, forcing himself to stay calm, 'think. Where could he be?' In a distance of about thirty feet he could see white foam bubbling up where the shuttle had been only seconds ago.

'Maybe he got pulled under.'

The thought flashed through his mind and at the same moment he dived, scrunching up his eyes as the salty water closed around his face. Swimming back in the direction to where the shuttle had been, he desperately tried to see through the dark grey blurs in front of him. His eyes were stinging like mad, but still he tried to keep them open, diving deeper, feeling the water on his skin getting colder. Realizing he was getting short on air, Trip was about to get back up to the surface when he saw a dark shape only a few feet away from him in the water.

Kicking his feet, he did one more stroke and reached out. His hand made contact with a soft material and a moment later he realized it was cloth. Gripping Reed's arm with both his hands he gathered his strength one more time and with a last effort he pulled him upwards, kicking the water with his feet, struggling towards the surface.

A moment later his head popped out of the water and he gasped for air. Malcolm, however, didn't move at all, hanging in his arms like a dead weight, obviously not breathing. Trip knew he didn't have much time left. Wrapping his left arm tightly around Malcolm's neck, careful to keep Reed's chin out of the water, he began swimming towards the shore, using his right arm and legs to propel himself forwards. It was hard work, keeping up this speed with the combined weight of Malcolm and his wet uniform pulling him down, but Trip kept going, trying not to think of how long exactly a man could survive without any air. From his First Aid training at the Academy he remembered it wasn't very long.

Despite the cold of the water he was sweating and when his foot suddenly hit hard rocky ground, he was thrown off balance, almost pulling Malcolm under with him. He struggled to his feet and grabbed the back of Reed's uniform, pulling him the last few feet through the shallow water towards the shore.

As soon as he had reached dry land, he grabbed the Lieutenant around the waist, turning him face downwards, and started shaking him rather unceremoniously until a flood of water gushed from Reed's mouth. When the vomiting subsided, Trip put him down, rolling him over, and with shaking hands he checked for a pulse. First he couldn't feel anything, his fingers stiff and numb from the cold, but then he finally detected a weak unsteady heartbeat. Briefly closing his eyes with relief, he put the back of his hand against Malcolm's mouth and found that he still wasn't breathing.

'Okay', he thought, clenching his hands to fists to stop them from shaking, 'okay, I can do this. I did it a dozen times in training. I can do this.'

Taking Reed's face in both hands, he pulled Malcolm's head back and pressed the mouth open. Drawing in a deep breath, he bent down and began giving the mouth-to-mouth. First, nothing happened and Trip was already feeling his head getting dizzy, but then Reed suddenly started coughing, spitting out a considerable amount of water. Trip grabbed him by the shoulders, turning him around, patting him on the back until the last of the water had come out. Reed was now breathing on his own, shallowly though, but breathing again and Trip let him back down onto the rocky ground of the shore, feeling weak and shaky with relief.

Now that it was over, he realized he was panting and his vision started to get blurry with exhaustion. For a moment, he just lay down next to Malcolm, closing his eyes, forcing himself to take a couple of long deep breaths. After a while, he felt his heartbeat slowing down, and the feeling returned into his arms and legs which had gone numb with the cold. Now he also felt his wet uniform clinging at his skin like a layer of ice, and the cold wind coming from the sea was no improvement either.

Slowly, Trip sat up, taking a look at his surroundings for the first time. Well, it could have been worse, but it surely was no match for the sunny Florida sand beaches, either. The rocky coast stretched into both directions as far as he could see, interrupted only now and then by lumps of tangled seaweed and rotting chunks of wood. Behind them, the beach was sloping upwards, strewn with large mossy boulders. There was no vegetation worth mentioning, only a few leafless shrubs growing here and there. Behind the hilltop Trip could make out the silhouette of a few trees, dark against the grey sky.

'Well, what a gorgeous place,' he thought with a touch of sarcasm, getting up. Following a sudden urge, he checked whether his phase pistol was still secured in its holster. Yes, it was still there. That meant he could at least build a fire against the freezing cold. And he had to get Malcolm warm and dry as soon as possible, or the Lieutenant would catch pneumonia for sure. He himself wouldn't say no to a warm fire either, and he had to get out of the soggy uniform, too.

With a few steps he climbed the hill and scanned the area in search of a suitable campsite. On this side of the hill the slope was much steeper, descending into some kind of uneven depression, which ended into a small sparse forest. At the foot of the slope, to his right there stood a big tree, which in a way reminded him of a weeping willow, its branches drooping towards the ground as if some invisible weight was holding them down.

'That'll have to do,' he thought, returning to the place where Malcolm lay. Reed was still unconscious, his face pale and drawn, and Trip reassured himself that Malcolm was still breathing regularly before he carefully picked him up. His arms were already aching with exhaustion, and when he straightened up, he felt a sharp pain stinging in his shoulders. Staggering under the weight, he made his way up the hill in small steps and nearly lost his balance as he walked down the slope on the other side, but caught himself in the last moment. When he had reached the shelter of the willow tree's branches, he carefully lowered Reed onto the grassy ground, almost hearing his joints creak as he did so.

Now that he wasn't exposed to the biting cold wind anymore, he felt a little better, but still he knew they had to get rid of those soaking wet uniforms as soon as possible. Maybe he'd be able to build a fire later; if he found enough dry wood, that was. It had started drizzling by now, and the ground was soggy except for the small spot protected by the tree's branches. Kneeling down beside Reed, he opened the security seal of the survival kit and took it off, beginning to rummage through its contents. He found two emergency blankets folded to the size of a small sandwich and took them out of their wrapping, unfolding them and spreading one of them on the ground.

Checking Reed's pulse and breathing once again and finding his condition to be stable, he got him out of the wet uniform and lifted him onto the blanket, covering him with the other one. Malcolm's face was still pale and in the fading daylight his skin seemed almost gray.

'He looks frozen,' Trip thought, cursing their luck for the thousands time since the shuttle had started to fall apart a few hundred feet above the surface. He'd lost his communicator during the crash, but it probably would have been no use anyway, trying to contact Enterprise from here. Before he and Malcolm had left the ship, T'Pol had informed them that the strong atmospheric interferences would only allow the most basic of communication, and close to the surface maintaining ship-to-ship contact was made impossible by the electrical storms raging in the atmosphere. Trip guessed it had been one of those storms which had caused the shuttlepod's malfunctions, but it was not much use at the moment, trying to find an explanation for what had happened. He had to tend to the matters at hand now.

Rummaging through the survival kit again, he found a few of those disgusting e-rations, two bags of water and a small med-kit. Well, at least they wouldn't starve until Jon noticed they were late and sent down a search team to look for them. Which Trip hoped he would do _soon_. It _was_ very cold down here on Aquarius. Grimacing at the name which suddenly didn't sound so funny anymore,

Trip got up and began looking for wood or anything combustible he could use to built a fire. He tried breaking off some of the willow tree's branches, but they were hard as nails and flexible, and somehow he got the impression they wouldn't burn very well anyway. Looking around, his eyes fell on the silhouette of the forest about four hundred feet away. He hated the thought of leaving Malcolm alone—anything could happen even during the short time it would take him to collect a few branches—but he knew just as well that they _needed_ the fire.

He was shivering all over, chilled to the core by the wet uniform he was wearing, and the gray, clammy look of Malcolm's skin made him very nervous indeed. He didn't know exactly what the medical implications were, but knew he had to get him warm as soon as possible.

Adjusting Malcolm's blankets once again, Trip got up, took his phaser out of the holster and checked its setting. For a moment he considered changing it to "kill", then decided against it. T'Pol's scans had shown that the planet was not inhabited by anything larger than mammals the size of a small cat, and Trip hoped he wouldn't meet any of them during his short walk in the woods.

Stuffing the phaser back into its holster, Trip threw one last glance at the still unconscious form of Reed, then set off in direction of the forest. As he reached the underbrush which lined the birch-like trees on the edge of the forest, he noticed that darkness was falling quickly, and it was getting hard to make out the shape of the trees and bushes a few feet away from him. He had to hurry to get back to their campsite before it got completely dark. The last thing he needed now was tripping over a hidden root and breaking his leg in the process.

While he stopped here and there to tear off a few dry branches, careful to keep one hand free so he could grab for his phaser if necessary, he thought about what had happened after the crash. He still didn't quite understand why Malcolm hadn't at least screamed for help before he went under. He couldn't have possibly been pulled under by the current of the sinking shuttle—when Trip had found him, they'd been at least twenty feet away from the place where the shuttle had sunk.

Trip remembered Malcolm had been behaving quite strangely even before the crash, staring out the window with a zoned-out expression on his face, not listening to anything he'd said. Reed had looked like somebody who was seeing a ghost, as if he had been terribly afraid of something. But Trip didn't have the faintest idea what could have caused such fear. It had been just a routine mission—Jon had sent them down to do a few scans on the planet's surface after T'Pol had announced that the electrical storms were hindering a closer research by ship scanners. They'd expected to be back in less than twenty-four hours.

'Maybe he was sick or something when we boarded the shuttle,' Trip thought, 'and didn't want to say anything about it.' That was just like Malcolm, never admitting to any kind of illness until someone put their foot down and dragged him off to sickbay. Although the thought made him smile slightly, he was beginning to feel worried. What if the Lieutenant had actually contracted some kind of disease which would weaken his condition even more now? Trip wouldn't be able to do anything to help him, not without a medical scanner and a better med kit than the one the survival bag contained.

Pulling down a last few twigs, Trip surveyed his gatherings and decided he had enough wood to last him for a few hours. At least he could built a fire now and dry that soggy excuse for a uniform. With that pleasant prospect in mind, Trip set off in direction of the campsite without looking back, and heard the crunching noises not until they were only a few feet away from him.

He spun around, letting go of the branches and groping for his phase pistol. In the dim light of dusk he could make out two dark silhouettes moving towards him between the trees. From what he could see, they were at least six feet tall and seemed to be humanoid. Instinctively, Trip took a few steps backwards, almost stumbling as his foot got caught in some underbrush.

"Who's there?" he called out, desperately trying to free his foot. There was no response. One of them, though, raised his hand and suddenly a blue bolt of light hit the bushes beside him, missing him only by a few inches.

He raised his phase pistol, but right then the other one made a sudden movement and another beam of blue light whizzed past his left ear. Ducking away, Trip yanked his foot back, trying to free himself from the creepers which held his ankle in a firm grasp, lost his balance and fell. Crashing into the underbrush, he felt the phaser slip from his hand and a moment later something hit him in the chest. For the flash of a second, he saw one of the black figures moving towards him, then darkness took him away.


	3. Chapter 3

Plonk!

The ball bounced off the wall, sailing back to Archer who caught it and threw it back again. There was something meditative about the simple repeating of the movement, and while it wasn't as sophisticated as Vulcan meditation techniques, it helped him sort out his thoughts, anyway.

He knew he was being overprotective again, but he couldn't help feeling worried at the thought of Trip and Malcolm down there on that planet, shut off from Enterprise by the atmospheric interferences that made it impossible to contact them or even trace their life signs on the scanners. When he had sent them down, he had known this, of course, but it gave him a headache anyway when he thought about it now. If something happened down there, if they had some kind of accident or something unforeseeable happened, there would be no way for them to call for help. They had been gone for only two hours now, and he'd spent at least half of that time sitting in his cabin throwing the ball against the wall.

He knew he was being a motherhen like always, but he just didn't like sending his officers on risky missions. And bearing in mind the little he knew about Reed's aquaphobia, he really hoped this particular mission would go smoothly. The ball struck the wall once more and flew back to him in a graceful arc. Just when Archer reached out and caught it, the door bell chimed. Porthos, who was lying curled up on his cushion and had been watching the ball flying back and forth, raised his head and gave a small noise. Archer looked at him and raised his eyebrows.

"Come," he called, and the door swished open, revealing Subcommander T'Pol, standing in the doorway, holding a padd in her hand.

"Good evening, Captain," she said. "May I come in?"

"Evening T'Pol," he said, putting the ball aside. "Sure, come in."

T'Pol took a step forward, letting the door swish shut behind her, and came to stand beside the bed, looking down at her padd.

"What's up?" Archer asked. T'Pol raised an eyebrow.

"Minor complications arose regarding the time of our stay in orbit of XR-539."

"What kind?" Archer said, frowning. T'Pol checked her padd.

"Half an hour ago the scanners picked up certain activities near planet Sa'veen, neighbour planet of XR-539. It seems—"

"Just a second," Archer said. "Sa'veen? That's the one with those people who look almost human? The ones with all those hidden nuclear weapons caches?" She didn't answer immediately, fixing him with a piercing glare as she always did when he interrupted her.

"Indeed, Captain," she said, her tone telling him what she thought of people who didn't read the science reports thoroughly enough to know all the data by heart.

"It seems the Sa'veens are preparing to send out a fleet of battle ships to fly an attack against planet Daraia."

"That's Aquarius' other neighbour planet, isn't it?"

"Yes, Captain," T'Pol said, an edge of testiness creeping into her voice.

"Daraia is XR-539's other neighbour planet."

"And they're sending out a fleet?"

T'Pol looked as if she was fighting very hard to keep herself from rolling her eyes. "No, Captain. The _Sa'veens_ are sending out a fleet."

"That's what I meant," he said, wondering what he'd done to make her so irritated with him. "The Sa'veens are sending out a fleet to attack the Daraians. Should take them quite a while to get there, shouldn't it?"

"Indeed, Captain," T'Pol said, raising one disapproving eyebrow at his choice of words.

'Boy, she's in quite a mood today,' Archer thought, listening hard so as not to miss any important facts as she continued.

"Both societies—the Sa'veens and the Daraians—have not yet developed warp drive, but are otherwise quite advanced in their technological abilities. Especially concerning weapon technology. Since they have been enemies for several centuries now, it is quite possible that this attack will start a nuclear war between the two planets. The Sa'veen fleet will reach our position in approximately three to four days. It is crucial that we have left XR-539's orbit until then, so as not to interfere with the cultural development of this system."

Archer raised his head. "Cultural development?" he asked. "They're going to bomb each other back to Stone Age and you're talking of cultural development?" She seemed to have expected this reaction, but apparently disapproved of the implications nonetheless. "Captain, I advise strongly not to interfere in any way. We know practically nothing about these two cultures, and any action on our part would probably only serve to add more complications to the situation."

He shook his head. "I know how you feel about these things, but I don't completely agree with you there. I suggest we wait another sixteen hours until Malcolm and Trip are back from the planet, then we can hold a meeting and discuss this at greater length with all the senior staff present." He noticed her questioningly raised eyebrow and added, "I think Trip's input could be useful here and I need my tactical officer as well to evaluate the situation."

She clasped her hands behind her back. "As you wish, Captain," she said and was already on her way to the door when he called her back.

"T'Pol..." he began, knowing he shouldn't ask this, but feeling he had to, anyway. "Is there something wrong? You seem so...irritated."

He fully expected her to deny any feelings of that kind, but to his surprise she didn't answer immediately, her eyes wandering across the room and finally coming to rest on something beside him on the bed. He looked down, but there was only the ball he'd put aside earlier.

"What is it?" he asked, his confusion growing. T'Pol briefly closed her eyes.

"Captain," she said, "It is quite difficult for me to concentrate on my work when you keep throwing this object against the wall. As you know, our quarters are separated only by this wall which is not too thick, and the Vulcan hearing is keen enough to pick up even the slightest noise. Besides, my ceremonial ker'pan keeps falling off the wall."

Archer stared at her, opening his mouth to say something, then closed it again. He looked down at the ball.

"Oh," he said, feeling his face grow hot. "That..." He cleared his throat, looking up at T'Pol, who had her eyebrows raised. "I'm sorry," he said. "I won't do it again."

"That is fortunate," T'Pol said and turned around, touching the panel beside the door and leaving the Captain's quarters.

* * *

It was cold. Malcolm felt a smooth, silky material brushing against his skin, but even that was cold. He was cold all over. He stirred slightly and noticed a dull ache throbbing in his back. A moment later he realized the pain was not only in his back, but stung in every part of his body as he tried to move. Slowly, he opened his eyes. First he saw only blurred and unfamiliar shapes, then the details of his environment came into focus and he realized he was somewhere outside. It was dark. At a distance he could hear waves crashing against a coast, but it was a subdued sound. The sea had to be quite far away.

The sound brought sudden fragmented images to his mind: Waves crashing against a shuttle window. Water gathering around his feet, soaking through his uniform, rising at an incredible speed. The icy feeling of water closing over his head.

He drew a deep breath. His lungs filled with air alright, but the choking feeling he'd experienced before returned and he started coughing violently. A sharp pain seared through his throat as his lungs tried to get rid of the last remains of the water. Propping himself up on one elbow he bent forward, trying to ease the pressure on his chest.

He'd felt like this before, only that the suffocating feeling had been much worse then. He remembered icy water filling his lungs— _drowning_ —and took another breath.

'How did I get here?' It was the first coherent thought that crossed his mind since he'd woken up in that strange, cold place, and he struggled to a sitting position, wincing at the pain the movement caused. A gust of cold wind made him shiver and instinctively he pulled the blankets he'd been covered with closer.

From the corner of his eyes he noticed a movement, looked up and saw the dark shapes of tree branches blowing in the wind. A few feet away he could see an open survival kit lying on the ground. Beside it something dark was spread out on the grass and he recognized his uniform. He felt the soft material of the thermal blankets clinging to his skin and realized he was wearing only his Starfleet briefs. He hadn't noticed before, his arms and legs gone numb from the cold, but now he started to shiver even more violently and wrapped the blankets tightly around his shoulders.

"Commander?" he called out, slowly getting to his feet and looking around. But there was no answer and even when he squinted his eyes shut, he couldn't make out anything in the darkness that was surrounding him. Wind blew into his face and he felt small raindrops on his skin. It had begun to drizzle.

"Trip?" he shouted against the wind, but again there was no answer, the only sound being the rustling of the tree's branches above and the crashing of the sea against the shore. He called out again, but to no avail, and felt pain stinging in his sore throat. Coughing, he bent down to pick up the survival kit and began checking its contents. He pulled out one of the water bags and took a few sips, feeling dizziness blurring his vision. He blinked several times, trying to get rid of the feeling.

'Must have got up too quickly.' Carefully he lowered himself back down onto the blankets and began evaluating the situation. Trip was obviously gone, but that didn't necessarily mean something had happened to him.

'Maybe he went to check the area,' Malcolm thought, shivering again, pulling the blankets closer. 'Or he went to get something to build a fire with. Sure hope he did, it's bloody freezing cold down here.'

Anyway, the Commander would probably be back soon. Reaching out, he felt the cloth of his uniform and noticed that it was still quite wet and soggy.

'No way I can wear this now,' he thought grumpily, preparing himself for at least another hour of sitting half-naked on some deserted shore somewhere on this blasted water planet. His eyes fell on the empty phaser holster attached to the waist of his uniform and he frowned. He knew he'd had a phase pistol when they'd boarded the shuttle, but apparently he'd lost it somewhere out in that ocean.

'World's best security officer,' he thought sarcastically. 'You lost your weapon, you almost drowned, endangering your fellow officer and the mission, and to top it all you failed to tell your best friend about your stupid aquaphobia. Great, Malcolm. He'll be hopping mad at you when he comes back, and you deserve it, too.'

Sighing, he thought about how he was going to explain all of this to Trip, but actually there wasn't much to explain. Trip was going to be angry and disappointed, and Malcolm could give no plausible reason why he had neglected to tell him. The only reason he came up with was that he'd been ashamed, and now that sounded like a bad excuse even to his own ears.

His headache was getting worse and worse and he started to feel dizzy again. Reaching for the survival kit, he took out the small med unit and examined its contents. He found a hypo that contained some kind of pain killer, but after a moment's hesitation he put it back again. It might be better to save it for later, and he didn't know what Trip's condition was, either. Maybe he'd need some, too.

Lying back down on the clammy blankets, Malcolm closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing slowly and evenly. His eyelids were getting heavy, but he knew this was not the time to fall asleep. He lay there for some time, willing the pain in his head and back to go away and trying to ignore the feeling of guilt nagging at the back of his mind.

After a while he started, realizing that he'd almost fallen asleep after all. It was raining harder now, and although he didn't know exactly how much time had passed, he was starting to feel worried. He didn't believe Trip would stay away for so long. It just wasn't like him.

Pushing himself up into a sitting position, he tried to call again, but his throat was too sore and he started coughing instead. He sat there for another few minutes, staring out into the rainy night, pondering his options. He could either stay here and wait for Trip to come back, or he could go and look for him. Although it was probably safer and, as T'Pol would have put it, the "most logical way of action" to stay here at the campsite, Malcolm had a bad feeling about this. It just wasn't like Trip to walk off and stay away for so long.

Awkwardly he got to his feet, fighting off another wave of dizzyness, and picked up his uniform. It was still damp and clammy, but at least it would provide some kind of protection if he was to go further into that forest. He couldn't very well run through the woods half-naked.

The wet cloth felt awfully cold on his skin, and he had a hard time struggling into the arms and legs of the soggy jumpsuit, but finally he managed and slipped into his boots. For a moment he stood shivering, cursing this damn planet with all its water and gruesome weather—'Aquarius indeed,' he thought, thinking of the stupid nickname Travis had come up with and grimacing at the irony of it. He set off in direction of the forest, grateful for Aquarius' three moons that provided enough light for him to see where he was going. As he had reached the underbrush, he started walking along the edge of the forest, calling Trip's name as loud as he could which wasn't very loud after all, since his chest was stinging like mad and a cough rose in his throat every time he made a sound.

After a while he reached a place where the underbrush thinned out, and there was something like a beaten path leading into the forest. Trying not to think of what might be waiting for him at the end of the path, he pushed a few branches aside and entered the forest.

A few times he almost fell, stumbling on the uneven ground, branches whipping into his face, but he kept going anyway, calling out for Trip and stopping from time to time when another coughing fit racked his body.

He followed the path further into the forest, and after another five minutes his foot suddenly got caught in a few branches lying on the ground. He tried to keep his balance, but just that moment his vision clouded up again and he fell, bumping his knee as he hit the ground. For a moment he lay there, panting, the smell of the rotting leaves unpleasantly close to his face making his head spin.

Slowly, he pushed himself up, surveying his surroundings and noticed several strange things at once. There was the heap of branches lying right there in the middle of the path as if someone had dropped them there. On his right the underbrush was somehow deformed, branches and twigs bent and splintered, and—strangest thing of all—there were footprints on the ground. Not only one set of footprints but several.

He got to his knees, examining the footprints more closely. Apparently some kind of struggle had taken place here, and not too long ago either. He got up, following the tracks, and noticed some kind of trail on the muddy ground, as if something heavy had been dragged along there. Experiencing a sinking feeling in his stomach, Malcolm followed the trail which led further away from the path into the forest. After about thirty feet he came onto a clearing where the footprints suddenly disappeared, and bending down Malcolm discovered deep tire tracks, leading away from the spot where the trail came to an end.

He looked up, his eyes tracing the tire tracks disappearing between the trees, a thousand questions swirling through his mind at once. Who were they, and where had they taken Trip? Why had Enterprise's scanners not been able to pick up any bio signs when there obviously were intelligent life forms on this planet? And the most urgent question of all: What was he going to do now?

Taking a deep breath, Malcolm tried to quell the panic rising up in his stomach and forced himself to think clearly. Following the tire tracks in the dark was of no use, that much was obvious. He needed to get back to the place where he'd first noticed the footprints and see if he could find any clue of what had happened to Trip. And then he had to get away from here as quickly as possible before they came back.

Turning around he retraced his steps as quickly as he could. A minute later he was crouched on his hands and knees, searching the ground and the underbrush for something, anything that might tell him more about what had happened. He was already getting up again, deciding it was no use trying to investigate further in the dim light of the setting moons, when his eyes fell on something on the ground, partly hidden by the soggy leaves. Groping for it, he felt the familiar form of a phaser under his fingers and picked it up. It was set on "stun".

Malcolm got up, turning the phaser around in his hands, his mind racing. With a weapon to protect himself it was not impossible to try and find out where they'd taken Trip. If they had taken him anywhere. If he was still alive. Suddenly another coughing fit almost forced him to the ground, his chest contracting painfully, and he had to hold on to a nearby tree to stay on his feet. Leaning against the tree trunk, he waited for the dizzyness to subside, and somewhere in his mind the realization rose that it would be sheer madness to try and follow these tracks in his current condition, in an unfamiliar terrain, without any kind of light source. He would probably only succeed in falling down and breaking his leg. He had to get back to the campsite and wait for dawn before he went to continue his search.

Wearily, he straightened up again, gathered up the branches from the path and headed back in the direction of the campsite. He never noticed branches and twigs scratching his arms, or the pounding in his head getting worse and worse.

The only thing he could think of was that trail on the ground, and the footprints on the path. How did they—whoever they were—come to be here on that godforsaken planet that was supposed to harbour nothing but a few species of tiny mammals? And what had they done to Trip?

As he stepped out of the protective shelter of the forest and into the open again, he felt the wind blowing with even more force than before. The drizzle had turned into a steady downpour. In no time his clammy uniform was soaking wet again, and he pressed the branches against his chest in a desperate try to keep them out of the rain. If he wasn't able to build a fire now, he definitely would be in quite a lot of trouble for he was chilled to the core, and could hardly walk straight on his numb legs.

All but collapsing next to the heap of blankets at the campsite, his body shaking with another coughing fit, he noticed with relief that the branches of the tree provided enough shelter to keep away most of the rain. Arranging a small part of the branches into some kind of heap on the ground, he switched the phaser to its lowest setting, aiming it at the damp wood and hoping for the best.

First he only succeeded in conjuring up billows of stinking smoke that got into his eyes and throat, making him cough again, but then the branches caught fire and Malcolm lowered the phaser, sighing in relief. Maybe now he would actually be able to dry that uniform which was clinging to his skin like a wet towel.

Pulling off his boots, he struggled out of the jumpsuit and sat down heavily on the blankets, wrapping one of them around his shoulders. It didn't help much against the cold but he was too tired to care. Spreading out the uniform on the ground next to the fire he lay down on his back and closed his eyes. He knew it would probably be more use to dry the uniform by holding it over the fire, but he just didn't have the energy left to do so. His head felt like it was going to burst, and a strange heat clouded his thoughts, making it impossible for him to think straight. The pressure on his chest was worsening, and it felt like someone had put a heavy weight on his upper body, pinning him to the ground.

How he wished to be back in his nice, warm and _dry_ quarters on Enterprise...but Enterprise didn't expect them back for at least another ten hours. Or so he thought. He'd lost all sense of time, and only knew he had to keep himself from falling asleep, so he would be able to continue his search for Trip as soon as dawn broke. He forced his eyes open again and stared into the fire, mesmerized by the steady movement of the flames.

Thinking of the phaser, he groped around for it and a moment later his fingers closed around the cold metal of the weapon. Another wave of dizzyness washed over him, and he closed his eyes, waiting for it to pass. The feeling subsided, leaving only a dull throbbing pain in its wake, and although he had intended to open his eyes again, he somehow forgot to do so.

The warmth radiating from the fire crept into his arms and legs, helping him relax, and two minutes later Malcolm was fast asleep, his grip on the phaser loosening as his laboured breathing quieted down.


	4. Chapter 4

Major Larys of Special Force Unit 2 of the National Army of Planet Daraia was bored. Raising his eyes from the paperwork on his desk, he stared out of his office window, his eyes meeting the dark outlines of the trees of Middle Planet's damp forest.

Nothing ever changed here, and it was beyond him why he and his men had been ordered to stay and maintain the observation base even though by now it was clear what the Sa'veens were up to. There were only so many things sending out a fleet armed with hundreds of nuclear warheads could mean. Still, NA Command insisted that they'd stay here on this boring uninhabited planet while everybody back home on Daraia was preparing for war. There was nothing more outrageous than being stuck on a useless look-out post and being condemned to inactivity while the war he'd fought in all his life was going into its critical stage. Sometimes he wanted to take his gun to the forest and just shoot anything that moved to vent some of his frustration and get some life into that terrible boredom.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Major Larys looked up.

"Come," he called. The door opened, and in came Sergeant Karok, standing at attention immediately. Larys waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.

"At ease, Sergeant," he said. "Close the door."

Karok obeyed, pushing the door shut and taking a few steps into the room, coming to stand in front of the desk. Larys leaned back in his chair.

"What's the matter, Sergeant?" he asked, and Karok drew to attention again, staring over Larys' head at the wall behind him.

"On our routine patrol, we have arrested an individual, Sir," he barked. Larys looked up sharply at that. He'd expected something like "We've run out of gasoline, Sir" or "The toilet's clogged up again, Sir", the kind of news he got every day and which were boring him to death.

"What do you mean, an individual?" he asked. "Sa'veen?"

"I don't know, Sir," Karok said, still staring at the wall above Larys' head. "He looks like one of them, but there are some small differences. Maybe a mercenary?"

Larys frowned. The Sa'veens were not known to hire mercenaries, but maybe they had changed their war tactics during the last few years. He wouldn't know; he'd been stuck on this damn observation base for two years now, and the reports coming in from NA Command were sparse.

"Or some kind of spy, Sir?" Karok's harsh voice startled him out of his thoughts.

"Maybe," he said. Karok was as dumb as a ver'tok, but in this case he might be right. Maybe the mysterious prisoner was some kind of spy, after all.

"But if he's a spy, then that would mean the Sa'veens found a way to scan through our protection shield. This base should not be detectable on any scanners from planetary orbit, shouldn't it, Sergeant?"

"Yes, Sir," Karok barked, but Larys knew he'd say "Yes, Sir" even if the Major claimed the Sa'veens were a very nice and peaceful people. He was as dumb as a ver'tok, after all.

"Well," Larys said, getting up from his chair, "let's go ask your "individual" about it, maybe he can tell us more."

Karok grinned. "Yes, Sir," he said in an unpleasant tone of voice and Larys rolled his eyes inwardly. Karok had certain ways of venting his frustration as well, it seemed.

* * *

The Daraian translator cracked and sizzled, and Trip raised his head, hoping it wouldn't be the same question he'd heard at least a dozen times before, but of course it was.

"Are you working for the Sa'veen government?"

Trip stared at the guy who had asked the question, a six feet tall humanoid whose dark blue skin and white bulging eyes reminded him strongly of something dead that had been floating in the water for too long. He was grinning, showing a row of small reddish teeth, and as Trip just looked back at him, he repeated the question one more time, stressing every single word.

"Are—you—working—for—the—Sa'veen—government?"

Trip gritted his teeth. "I told you before, I've got nothing to do with the Sa'veens. I crashlanded on this planet when—"

He saw the guy raise his arm and tried to duck away, but it was no use. A fist connected with his cheekbone and fresh pain exploded in his already battered face. The Daraian gave a bark of laughter and turned back to the other one who was standing in the background, looking more bored than anything else.

"He's being uncooperative, Major," he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Shall I _continue_?"

The Major waved his hand in an uncaring manner. "You do that, Sergeant," he said, all but stifling a yawn. "I'll be in my office. Contact me when you're done."

Without another look at Trip or the Sergeant he left the small interrogation room, slamming the door shut behind him. Trip looked up at the Daraian who had turned around. The look on his face made Trip's insides contract. He realized this guy wasn't interested in getting any answers. No, he couldn't care less about any answers. What he was interested in was having some fun. His idea of fun, anyway.

"Did you already think of a different answer to my question?" the Sergeant asked, stepping closer. "Or do I have to ask you _again_?"

Trip just looked at him, fear forming a tight knot in his chest.

"I have nothing to tell you," he said, his voice sounding hoarse. A second later a vicious blow was delivered to his stomach and he doubled over in his chair, feeling like he was going to be sick. A hand grabbed his hair and yanked him upwards.

"You better think of something to tell me," the Sergeant hissed, his blue corpse-like face only inches away from Trip's. "Or this is going to be very unpleasant for you."

Anger and disgust rose in Trip, momentarily blotting out the fear, and following a sudden urge he spit into the ugly face, watching satisfied as it screwed up in anger.

"You little piece of shit!" The Daraian let go of his hair, shoving him back into the chair and in the next second white-hot pain exploded in his face, making him cry out in agony. Instinctively he tried to raise his hands to cover his face, but was stopped by the restraints that held them firmly behind his back. He felt something warm on his upper lip and tasted blood. Through a red haze in front of his eyes he saw the Sergeant coming towards him and a moment later he was grabbed by his arm and yanked to his feet.

"This was the last mistake of your sorry life, asshole," Trip heard him say and saw him raise something he was holding in his hand. He closed his eyes shut, feeling something hard connect with his lower back and fell to his knees, the breath knocked from his lungs. Before he could even draw in enough air to scream, the Sergeant kicked him in the stomach and Trip fell forward, pain searing through his broken nose as he hit the floor.

"Like that, you bastard?" The Daraian's voice seemed far away behind a wall of pain. Trip tried to struggle to his knees when the Sergeant's iron bar came down once more. It felt like being ripped apart. Trip screamed, crashing back onto the floor. Through a blur he saw the Sergeant draw his foot back to deliver another kick into his stomach, but before he could feel the blow darkness clouded his vision and he knew no more.


	5. Chapter 5

The door of the ready room swished open, revealing T'Pol who was standing in the doorway.

"You wished to talk to me, Captain?" she said. Archer motioned her into the room.

"Yes, please come in." He got up from his desk chair and looked at his science officer who came to stand in front of him, her features as calm and composed as always, her hands clasped behind her back.

"T'Pol, they should have been back three hours ago. I have a bad feeling about this."

She raised an eyebrow. "I think an objective approach to this situation would be more advisable, Captain."

Archer, who had been nervously pacing the room for the last thirty minutes, felt a sudden irritation at her disapproving tone of voice. He took a deep breath.

"Subcommander," he began, then bit back what he'd originally intended to say. Now was not the time to argue with her about Vulcan logic and human feelings. There were more urgent matters at hand.

"Be that as it may, I do think we should send down a search party. Maybe there's nothing wrong, but since there's no way to contact them, I think we should go down there and see if they're okay. Maybe they're having difficulties with the shuttle's systems and can't start."

T'Pol's face was absolutely expressionless as she answered.

"Captain, you are aware of the fact that if we are to send down another team, the lives of these crewmembers will be endangered as well."

Archer nodded. "Yes, I know. Still, I think we should go down. It's not like Trip to be late for no reason. And not like Malcolm either. Maybe they need help."

"I do agree, Captain, but I suggest that we keep the number of the crewmembers participating in this mission as low as possible." She paused. "I volunteer to be a member of the away team."

Archer suppressed a smile. "Permission granted, Subcommander. I suggest we take along Ensign Mayweather, as well as Dr Phlox and Ensign Hsan from Security. Tell them to meet us in shuttlebay two in ten minutes."

"Of course, Captain." She turned around, striding towards the door, but before she touched the panel she looked back one more time.

"Captain, when I spoke to you earlier, I did not want to seem inappropriately rude. Of course it is not my place to interfere with your spare time activities."

It took him a moment to realize that she was talking about the water ball incident, but then he had to keep himself from laughing out loud.

"That's quite alright, Subcommander. I hope your ceremonial ker'pan didn't break when it fell off the wall."

She raised an eyebrow. "No," she said. "That would have been quite a strange thing to happen, since a ker'pan is usually made out of cloth."

With that statement she left the ready room. Archer stared after her for a moment, then shook his head and grinned. This woman never ceased to surprise him.

* * *

"Captain, my scanners are picking up a life sign at two point one seven nine."

Archer bent over T'Pol's shoulder to take a look at the readings himself.

"One life sign?" he asked, his anxiousness deepening. Now that Travis had brought them past the worst of the atmospheric interferences, there should be no trouble picking up Trip's and Malcolm's bio signs on the shuttle's scanners.

Still, T'Pol had found only one life sign and from what Archer could see on the display it seemed to be quite weak. Straightening up again, he walked over to the small comm unit and pressed a few buttons.

"Archer to Commander Tucker. Trip, come in."

There was no answer, not even static interferences. Archer changed the settings and tried again.

"Trip, can you hear me? Come in, Trip."

Silence.

"Archer to Lieutenant Reed. Malcolm, are you there? Please respond."

He looked up, meeting Travis' and Phlox's worried looks. Shutting off the comm unit, he got up again when T'Pol raised her eyes from her console.

"Captain, the readings are more clearly now. There is definitely only one life sign in scanning range. And I cannot pick up shuttlepod one's signature anywhere."

Archer turned to Travis. "Take the shuttle down near these coordinates. Hurry."

"Aye sir."

Travis operated the navigation controls with skilled movements, and no one spoke a word as the shuttle continued on its course, descending towards the shore.

* * *

Travis set the shuttlepod down on an open space near the edge of a forest. When Archer opened the hatch and stepped out, he nearly slipped on the muddy ground. The sky above them was grey, and although it wasn't raining, the air was damp and cold, a sharp wind coming from over the sea. Archer waited for T'Pol,

Travis, Phlox and Hsan to climb out as well, then motioned T'Pol, who had her scanner ready, to lead the way.

"This way, Captain." Checking on the display, she set off across the clearing towards a big tree.

As they came closer, Archer noticed something lying on the ground near the tree trunk. Brushing past T'Pol, he quickly crossed the distance of about sixty feet that separated him from the tree. After a moment he saw it was really someone lying there, wrapped up in an emergency blanket, making no move as he approached.

It was Malcolm.

Getting to his knees beside Reed's still form, Archer pulled aside the blankets and his eyes fell on Malcolm's face. Reed's skin looked almost white except for an unhealthy red glow on his cheekbones, and despite the cold he seemed to be sweating. Archer put a hand on Reed's shoulder, shaking him gently, but there was no reaction.

"Please stand aside, Captain." Phlox had come up beside him and was already opening his med kit. Archer moved aside, watching the doctor as he pulled out a med scanner and ran it over the Lieutenant's body.

Taking a quick look around, Archer noticed the soggy remains of a small campfire nearby and a tangled heap of muddy cloth which after a moment he recognized as a Starfleet uniform. There were a few other things lying around the fire place as well, but there was no sign of Trip anywhere, nor of the shuttle.

"Captain," Phlox said and he turned back to the doctor. The Denobulan had a worried frown on his face as he continued. "I need to get the Lieutenant back to Enterprise as quickly as possible."

Archer looked down at Reed. "What's wrong with him?"

"It seems he has caught a rather severe case of pneumonia, Captain, and is running quite a fever. He's suffering from hypothermia as well, as far as I can tell. We need to get him away from here as soon as possible."

"I need to talk to him. He might know what happened to Trip."

"I would advise against giving Mr. Reed any kind of stimulant before I haven't examined him more thoroughly in sickbay. I—"

"I need to talk to him now, Doc," Archer interrupted him. Phlox let out an exasperated sigh and bent down to his med kit, producing a hypospray.

"I'll try this, but if it's not strong enough to wake him up, I will not give him any more injections."

Archer nodded and watched as Phlox bent down, pressing the hypo against Reed's neck. Then the doctor moved aside to make room for Archer who took his place, putting a hand on Reed's shoulder.

"Malcolm," he said, giving him a gentle shake. "Malcolm, wake up." Reed stirred slightly, turning his head from side to side. Then his eyelids fluttered open, but at first he couldn't seem to focus, blinking in confusion. Archer tightened his grip on Reed's shoulder.

"Malcolm, can you hear me?"

Suddenly, Reed started coughing, his body shaking violently. Archer put a hand on his back, supporting him.

"It's okay, Malcolm. Take it easy."

After a while the coughing subsided, and Malcolm turned his head slightly, looking up at Archer.

"Captain?" he croaked, the look in his eyes seeming less distant now. Archer smiled down at him.

"Yes, it's me," he said. "Malcolm, what happened?"

Reed frowned, seemingly having difficulties to remember.

"I...I don't know. Trip...I couldn't find him anywhere. There were footprints..."

"Footprints?" Archer asked, his confusion growing. "Where?"

"Back on that path...in the forest. I went to look for him..."

"There is a path in the forest?" Archer asked, frowning.

"I found his phaser there."

Looking down, Archer noticed Reed was holding a phase pistol in one of his hands. It was turned to its lowest setting.

"What happened to the shuttle, Malcolm?"

Reed blinked, obviously trying very hard to concentrate on Archer's questions.

"We crashed...out in the ocean. It sank."

Archer felt his insides contract.

"It sank?"

Reed nodded wearily. "We had to swim to the shore. I...I couldn't...I went under." His eyes were full of shame as he continued. "I panicked. Think I lost consciousness. When I woke up again, I was here and Trip was gone."

Archer stared down at Reed who had closed his eyes again and suddenly felt a hand on his arm.

"Captain," Phlox said quietly. "You are upsetting the Lieutenant. I suggest you postpone any further questioning, so we can get him back to Enterprise."

Archer nodded, reluctantly getting up. Dr. Phlox looked at T'Pol who stepped forward without another word and bent down, sliding her arms under Reed's body. She straightened up again, apparently unaffected by the weight, and turned, setting off in the direction of the shuttle, carrying the unconscious Lieutenant in her arms.

Archer looked at Travis. "Take Dr. Phlox and Lieutenant Reed back to Enterprise, then come back here as quickly as possible."

Mayweather nodded. "What will you do in the meantime, Captain?"

Archer cast a look at the trees of the nearby forest. "I'll go and see what happened to Trip."

* * *

It didn't take them long to find the path Reed had mentioned before he'd lost consciousness. Leading the way, Archer made his way through the underbrush, followed by T'Pol and Ensign Hsan who had their phasers drawn. Hsan, a small dark-skinned woman who according to Malcolm was one of the most experienced security guards of his team, looked around with that kind of alertness that told Archer she wasn't missing one single detail of their environment. He wasn't surprised when she spotted it first: a small clearing on the path, the muddy ground uneven with dozens of footprints.

"This way, Captain!"

Hsan pointed at something between the trees and Archer saw that the footprints were leading away from the path. Looking up, he met T'Pol's eyes and knew she had noticed it as well: Behind the footprints there was a trail, as if something—or someone—had been dragged along here. Checking her scanner again, T'Pol raised an eyebrow.

"I am picking up strange readings from this direction, Captain."

"What do you mean, strange?"

T'Pol frowned slightly. "It almost seems as if there is some kind of energy source about half a mile away from here. Apparently some kind of force field. It is protecting part of the area from being scanned."

Archer nodded grimly. "Seems like we're going in the right direction, after all."

Pushing a few branches aside, he followed the trail deeper into the forest and stopped when he noticed tire tracks on the ground, leading away from the spot where the footprints ended.

"T'Pol! Ensign!" he called out, and both women came to stand beside him. T'Pol looked at the tire tracks and raised an eyebrow.

"It seems like we are not the only visitors to XR-539, after all. Apparently the force field combined with the electrical interferences in the atmosphere prevented the scanners from picking up any life signs."

Archer heard what she was saying, but he wasn't really listening. It was obvious these people—whoever they were—had kidnapped Trip, and standing here, discussing the physics of XR-539's atmosphere was making him nervous. Nodding absentmindedly, he motioned with his phaser.

"Come on, let's go," he said, starting to follow the tire tracks which were leading into the forest, zigzagging between the trees. Without another word, T'Pol and Hsan followed him, making their way along the muddy trail.

They'd walked in silence for another ten minutes when the trees began to thin out, and the underbrush thickened again.

"Captain." T'Pol pointed at something hidden beneath a small bush next to a tree, and Archer recognized some kind of device that reminded him of a generator. T'Pol's next words confirmed his guess.

"This is producing the protective field, Captain," she said in a low voice, checking her scanner. "There are three more of them, arranged in a circular fashion. We are now on the edge of the protected area."

Archer frowned. "Is it possible to get through that field without being detected?"

"This should be no problem, Captain," T'Pol said. "It is a simple protective shield, not an EM field."

Archer nodded, starting to follow the tracks again. Now the forest had reduced to single trees surrounded by underbrush, and they found themselves on the edge of a clearing with some kind of small building complex in the middle.

"Get down," Archer hissed, ducking behind one of the bushes. Crouching beside him, T'Pol checked the display of her scanner again.

"There are five life signs detectable in the building, Captain." She looked up at him. "One is human."

Briefly, Archer closed his eyes in relief. "What about the others?" he asked.

T'Pol raised an eyebrow.

"They are obviously Daraian."

Archer peered through the branches at the building. "A look-out post. They're here to spy on the Sa'veens."

"A logical assumption," T'Pol said. "Apparently the Daraian society has reached a higher level of technological development than we had assumed."

"Look, there's the car!" Ensign Hsan pointed at a vehicle standing a short distance away from the building. To the left there seemed to be the main entrance, with a Daraian guard standing in front of the door, a gun slung over his shoulder.

Archer turned to T'Pol again. "Can you tell Trip's position?"

"He's in a room at the back of the building." She looked up. "Captain, we need to hurry. His readings are getting weaker."

Archer swallowed, glancing at the building again. "Okay, let's get going."

* * *

Major Larys leaned back in his chair, frowning at Sergeant Karok who was standing at attention in front of his desk. This spy business was annoying the hell out of him, and the fact that he had to deal with a dumb oaf like Karok wasn't improving the situation, either.

Crossing his arms in front of his chest, he sighed.

"Now what exactly was the use of that, Sergeant? You've beaten him half to death and didn't even get any information out of him."

Karok shifted his feet. "I don't think he's a spy anyway, Sir."

'How dumb can a person get?' Larys wondered, leaning forward, folding his hands on his desk.

"So now he's suddenly not a spy anymore?" he asked, knowing fully well Karok wouldn't notice the sarcastic undertone of the question. "If you thought he was telling the truth, then why did you continue the interrogation anyway?"

Karok kept staring at the wall above Larys' head. "He was being uncooperative, Sir, and I felt I had to teach him to show some respect towards Daraian soldiers. Sir."

"Yeah, sure." Larys got up, walking around his desk and came to stand in front of Karok who took a small step backward, obviously feeling quite uncomfortable.

"Well, Sergeant," he said, amused at the wary look in Karok's eyes, "time to finish what you started. Get rid of him."

Karok drew to attention again. He seemed to be relieved not to have been given a dressing down by his superior officer for screwing up, and also quite pleased at the prospect of some more vitalizing violence to brighten up his day. Larys gave him a disdainful look and waved his hand dismissively.

"Go on, Sergeant," he said, and was just about to add another biting remark about the Sergeant's lack of brains when suddenly the sound of weapon fire outside in the corridor interrupted him. Both he and Karok spun around, and at the same moment the door flew open.

"What—" Larys began, watching as a beam of orange light hit Karok in the chest and flung him against the desk. He turned his head and saw a small woman standing in the doorway, aiming her weapon at him. 'Sa'veen,' he thought and a second later she fired. Blackness surrounded him and Major Larys of Special Force Unit 2 slumped unconscious against his desk, where he stayed for the rest of the most exciting day of his assignment to Observation Base 4.

* * *

Archer brushed past Hsan who'd taken care of the last two Daraian soldiers, and stepping over an unconscious guard he came to stand in front of the room where Trip was being held. Aiming at the lock, he fired and the door flew open.

Batting away the smoke, Archer entered. His eyes fell on the still form of Trip lying on the floor in the back of the room. Kneeling down beside him, he turned him around and took a sharp breath at the sight of his friend's battered body. Trip was unconscious, his face covered in bruises, both his eyes swollen shut. His nose was swollen as well, obviously broken, his lips and cheeks smeared with dried blood.

T'Pol, who had followed Archer into the room, crouched down beside him.

"We have to hurry, Captain. His life signs are weakening."

Archer nodded, starting to pick Trip up but stopped when T'Pol put a hand on his arm.

"Let me carry him."

He hesitated, and she met his eyes firmly.

"Jonathan. The physical strength of a Vulcan is superior to that of a human. It will take less time when you let me carry him."

Archer looked at her for a moment, then nodded and moved aside to make room for her. With a swift movement, T'Pol picked up the seemingly lifeless body of Trip and straightened up. She looked at Archer, nodding curtly and together they hurriedly left the building. Hsan was already waiting for them at the main entrance. She cast a worried look at the Commander in T'Pol's arms.

"How is he?" she asked, looking up at Archer, who met her eyes, frowning.

"Not good," he said. "We need to get him back as quickly as possible."

* * *

It took them about half an hour to get back to the edge of the forest where Travis was already waiting with the shuttle. Even though T'Pol had had no problems to keep up with Archer and Hsan on their way back, she looked quite exhausted when they stepped out of the forest onto the clearing. Archer had offered several times to take Trip, but she'd declined, stubbornly insisting she could handle it.

Still, she was obviously quite relieved when she could put him down on one of the side benches in the shuttle. As soon as he had closed the hatch behind him, Archer was at Trip's side, pulling a med kit out of one of the storage compartments and running the med scanner over his friend's still form. When he saw the readings on the small display he bit his lip. Trip seemed to be suffering from severe internal injuries as well as several bone fractures. Carrying him through the forest had probably even worsened his condition, but then, they'd practically had no other choice. Getting a blanket out of the storage compartment, he spread it over Trip and sat down on the bench on the opposite side.

Looking out of the window, he saw the dark waters of planet Aquarius several hundred feet below them and couldn't suppress a small shudder when he thought of Trip and Malcolm crashlanding in these grey depths. Even from up here he could see the ocean moving and churning.

'What was I thinking, sending Malcolm down there even though I knew he's afraid of the water?' Archer felt guilt nagging at the back of his mind. Although Reed had told him there would be no problems with this mission, Archer was sure the Lieutenant had been beside himself with terror when he'd had to face the prospect of crashlanding in that roaring monster of an ocean.

Somehow this mission seemed to have been jinxed from the start. Now he didn't even know whether Trip was going to survive or not, beaten within an inch of his life by some anonymous aliens who had probably mistaken him for an enemy spy. Anger rose within him as he thought of the careless cruelty it took to do such a thing to another person.

He noticed a movement in the corner of his eyes and glanced away from the window, looking up. T'Pol had gotten up from her seat and was now standing beside him, looking down at him with a peculiar expression on her face. He shook his head.

"I'd like to have a few minutes alone with the people who did that," he said, not bothering to keep the anger out of his voice. T'Pol raised an eyebrow, still looking at him with that strange expression on her face.

"What?" he asked, sounding more irritated than he'd intended to. T'Pol clasped her hands behind her back.

"Captain, while I certainly do not approve in any way of what the Daraian soldiers have done to Commander Tucker, you must keep in mind that both societies, Sa'veen as well as Daraian, have been revolving around war and violence for several centuries now. These soldiers were not being evil in the literal sense of the word, but were acting the way their society expected them to."

Archer couldn't believe he'd heard her right. "Are you saying this is natural, that this is what everybody would have done who grew up on one of these planets? I can't accept that as an excuse. Every intelligent individual has the right and the duty to decide for themselves what's right and what's wrong."

T'Pol sat down beside him on the bench. "Sometimes it is not as simple as that, Captain. The society has great influence on the development of the individual. Think of similar regimes in Earth's history, which were based mainly upon terror and violence, for example Nazi Germany in the 20th century. In this society normal, average people committed cruelties they would certainly have disapproved of if they had been raised in an environment where actions of these kind had not been commonly accepted. Governments can manipulate people quite easily by using propaganda and misleading information."

Archer shook his head. "You can't justify your actions just by saying "Everybody else does it too." No government can stop people from thinking for themselves. No, I don't think I can accept that as an excuse."

"It is not an excuse, but it might make certain things more understandable," T'Pol said. Archer regarded her thoughtfully. He didn't think he could agree with her there, but she might have a point when she said that the Sa'veen and the Daraian societies were just too different for him to fully understand them.

"The Sa'veen fleet will reach Daraia in approximately one week," T'Pol said suddenly. "Have you already come to a decision concerning further actions on our part?"

Archer sighed. This question had been lurking in the back of his mind ever since she'd left his quarters yesterday, but he hadn't really had the time to think it through yet.

"I'm not sure," he said slowly. "The Daraians...they seem to be pretty advanced. These protective shield should help them hide their major cities so the Sa'veen battleships will have a hard time tracing their targets from orbit."

He raised his head, looking at T'Pol who met his eyes evenly.

"I think it would be a wise decision to refrain from interfering in this conflict," she said.

Archer looked out the window again. By now they'd left the planet's atmosphere and he could see the silhouette of Enterprise growing steadily bigger as they approached.

Reluctantly, he nodded. Yes, maybe it would be a wise decision, after all.


	6. Chapter 6

The soft humming of the sickbay instruments was the first thing Malcolm consciously noted when he woke up. His mind let go of the last remnants of sleep only reluctantly, and he realized he was actually feeling kind of sorry that he'd woken up, since waking up meant becoming aware again of all the inconveniences of being sick. Malcolm shifted slightly on the bio bed, wincing at the pain in his stiff back and shoulders. The fever still made him feel sort of dazed and his head hurt like hell.

'Oh I hate being sick,' he thought miserably. 'Well, but at least I'm not down there on that wet hell of a planet anymore.' He grimaced. 'That's right, Malcolm. Always look on the bright side of life.'

He shifted on the bed again, trying to find a comfortable position. The lights in sickbay were dimmed, so he guessed it was night on Enterprise, but he didn't know for sure. It must have been about two days ago that they'd returned from the planet, but he'd been unconscious or sleeping most of the time and as far as he could remember, he'd only woken up once or twice before.

He recalled Captain Archer coming to see him once. It had been at a time when he hadn't been fully lucid yet, but he did remember asking the Captain about Trip. At first, Archer hadn't told him much, only saying that Trip was still very weak, recovering from a major operation. When Malcolm had asked further, Archer had told him reluctantly about what had happened to Trip on the planet and how they'd rescued him. Although the Captain had hastened to add that Trip was expected to recover fully, Malcolm had been shocked and Phlox had kicked Archer out of sickbay, saying his bedside manners were terrible and he was not to upset the patients any further.

Reed hadn't had the chance to talk to Trip himself yet, since at the few occasions he'd been awake the Commander had always been sleeping or under sedation.

Malcolm turned his head, glancing over at the bio bed next to his, the only other occupied bed in sickbay. The white curtain was drawn back, and he could see Trip lying there, eyes closed. His face was relaxed, but there was a nasty-looking bruise on his cheekbone and his nose was splinted. One of his eyes still looked slightly swollen, a dark bruise surrounding it.

When Malcolm thought of what Archer had told him about Tucker's other injuries, he shuddered inwardly. Those Daraian soldiers could have killed Trip just as easily and it had been just by lucky coincident that the Captain had found him in time.

Just as Malcolm watched, Trip stirred slightly and suddenly opened his eyes. Reed startled.

"Trip," he said, surprised. His voice sounded hoarse, and he felt pain stinging in his sore throat as he spoke. Trip blinked several times, apparently still a little dazed from sleep.

"Hi Malcolm," he said, the words coming out slightly blurred. Malcolm smiled at him.

"Sleep well?" he asked. Trip didn't answer, simply looking back at him with no particular expression on his face. Reed frowned a little, but then he realized Trip was probably still feeling the after-effects of the sedation and maybe hadn't heard what he'd said.

"How do you feel?" he asked, clearing his throat as his voice started to fail again. Trip looked at him for another moment, then mumbled something under his breath and turned away.

"Excuse me?" Reed asked, his confusion growing. Trip was indeed behaving very strangely. Now the Commander looked back at him again and to Reed's surprise Trip had an angry frown on his face.

"Why would you care?" he asked, the words coming out quite clearly now, even though they didn't make any sense to Malcolm.

"Trip?" he asked carefully. "Is there something wrong?"

"No, everything's just fine," Trip said, his voice full of sarcasm. " _Peachy._ "

Malcolm stared at him, at a loss for words. He had no idea what he'd done to make Trip so angry at him. Maybe it was the medications, after all.

"Are you feeling alright, Trip?" he asked, wondering if he should call Dr. Phlox. Trip turned his head away again.

"Sure. I'm fine."

Malcolm stared at the back of Trip's head, now totally confused. Trip seemed lucid enough, but Reed could think of no reason whatsoever why the Commander should be so mad at him. A few moments of silence followed.

"Won't you tell me what's wrong, Trip?" Malcolm asked after a while. "I really have no idea."

Trip turned his head, now staring at the ceiling, still not meeting Reed's eyes. "Oh, so you have no idea. Well, that's too bad."

Malcolm sighed. His throat ached from talking so much, and he was getting kind of tired of this fruitless conversation.

"No, I really don't. It would make things a lot easier if you just told me." Now Trip finally looked at him, his face displaying unmasked anger.

"A lot of things woulda been easier if you'd just told me about your aquaphobia!"

Malcolm stared at him, realization beginning to dawn.

'But how can he know?' he asked himself. 'Nobody knows about this. Nobody except...'

He experienced a sinking feeling in his stomach and closed his eyes. 'Oh God, no. So the Captain told him about it. No wonder he's furious.'

He opened his eyes again, looking back at Trip who was staring at the ceiling again, and cleared his throat.

"Trip..." he began, not exactly knowing what he was going to say. "Look...I'm sorry. I know I should've told you about it. But I..."

He trailed off. Why _hadn't_ he told Trip about it? He must have had a reason not to tell him, but somehow he couldn't seem to remember what it had been.

"But you what?" Trip asked.

Malcolm sighed. "I don't know, Trip. I never told anyone about it—"

"Bullshit. You told Jon. And anyway, when we were in the shuttle I even asked you if there was somethin' wrong, but you didn't say a word. And even if you didn't want to tell me as your friend, it would have been your duty to tell me as your commanding officer. Can you imagine how scared I was when you just went under? You nearly drowned, and it would've been my fault if you'd died."

Malcolm turned onto his back, now staring at the ceiling as well. Trip was right, he was absolutely right, and there was nothing he could say to defend himself. And even though Trip hadn't said so explicitly, Malcolm knew he'd hurt Trip by failing to tell him.

'He must think I don't trust him at all,' Malcolm thought. The only thing he could think of to say was that he was terribly, terribly sorry, and he didn't believe Trip wanted to hear that now.

"Trip," he began hesitantly, "it's not that I don't trust or anything. When I told Captain Archer we were both out there in that minefield, and I didn't think it would make any difference anymore if someone knew about it or not."

Trip was silent for a moment. "Look Malcolm," he said then, "I don't give a shit if or why or where you told Jon about it. But you should've told _me_." There was another pause, then Trip added quietly: "I used to think we were friends." Malcolm closed his eyes again. It hurt to hear Trip speaking in that disappointed tone of voice.

"I'm sorry, Trip. I'm really, really sorry. I know I should've told you, but I guess I was just...ashamed."

A short moment of silence followed. "Why would you be ashamed?" Trip asked then. Malcolm turned his head and saw the Commander was looking at him. His expression wasn't angry or furious anymore, only confused. Reed opened his mouth, searching for the right words to express his feelings.

"I...don't really know. I think I thought...I think I was afraid you'd laugh at me. Say I was being hysterical or something."

Trip looked at him for a moment. "Malcolm, you know I'd never say that."

Malcolm took a deep breath. "Yes, I know. And I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry."

To his surprise a small grin appeared on Trip's face. "Yeah, I believe you already said so." He shook his head. "Brain-twisted Brit."

Malcolm blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Nothin'. Just kiddin'." Trip was silent for a moment, then shifted slightly on the bed and Malcolm saw him wincing with pain.

"Does your back hurt bad?" he asked and Trip glanced over at him, attempting a shrug.

"It's alright. Just a little."

For a few minutes neither of them said a word, then Malcolm broke the silence.

"It was bad, wasn't it?"

Trip didn't answer immediately. "Yes, it was," he said then, his voice sounding subdued. Malcolm turned his eyes back to the ceiling.

"Captain Archer told me what happened to you. What they did to you."

Trip let out a deep breath. "Yeah, well. You know, in the end I was sure I'd die down there. It was an awful feeling, thinkin' none of you would ever know what had happened to me." He paused, letting out another sigh. "But it's okay. It's over now."

Malcolm hesitated. "Trip, I don't know how you feel about all of this, but I...I just wanted to thank you for saving my life down there."

Trip smiled weakly. "You're welcome."

Suddenly his smile broadened. "Well, that was a fucked up away mission if there ever was one, wasn't it?"

Reed felt a grin spreading on his face as well. "I agree. One bloody fucked up away mission." He yawned. "I'm just glad I won't have to go down on that blooming water planet ever again in my life."

By now his sore throat was giving him hell, and he coughed a few times, trying to get rid of the tickling feeling that was driving him mad.

"You better shut up now," Trip said. "You're starting to sound like Dr. Phlox's bat."

"Harhar," Reed croaked, pulling the covers up to his chin. All this talking had left him feeling tired and worn out, and his headache had gotten worse again.

Closing his eyes, he shifted again, seeking a comfortable spot on the pillow, then gave up and tried to think of nothing, letting himself drift.

* * *

When Dr. Phlox came back from the mess hall half an hour later, he found both of his patients sound asleep and nodded in satisfaction. He knew one week from now these two would be driving him up the walls, whining and complaining that they were feeling absolutely fine and wanted to get out of sickbay _now_.

Sighing at the prospect, he went over to the counter where he kept the food for his animals and started gathering together the various containers.

"Well, my dear," he said, approaching the cage where he kept his bat, carefully lifting the lid, "we'll have to enjoy peace and quiet as long as it lasts."

A moment later he howled in pain as the bat bit his finger and decided that in this sickbay—on this ship, come to think of it—there was never any real peace and quiet, after all.


End file.
